


Dennor Week Day 5: Fairytale

by TheNamesSid (TheNamesNotImportant)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dennor Week 2020, Flashbacks, Hans Christian Andersen's Holger Danske, Kinda, M/M, Mild Gore, Romance, What the Hell, a spin off of, also, fairytale, how the hell did i write so much, not historically accurate, not too bad i hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNamesNotImportant/pseuds/TheNamesSid
Summary: Dennor Week 2020 Day 5: Fairytale  Based on "Holger Danske" by Hans Christian AndersenSitting at his desk, drawing by the light of the fireplace, the the older brother talks with the younger. His pen moves across the paper with ease, bringing from nothing the figure of a man.“Who are you drawing?” The younger brother’s white hair appears luminescent in the fire light. The older studies it for a moment.He turns back to his drawing. “A man.”
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Kudos: 8





	Dennor Week Day 5: Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Hee hee, hoo hoo. Lot's to say in this one. 1) This is not historically accurate 2) This is set like early 1800' or something, don't know exactly (see 1) 3) Lukas is 18 aboard the ship, Iceland (who is never given a name bc fuck it, i'm lazy) is 10 at the time 4) The made up war lasts for two years, making Lukas 20 when he goes to the castle for the first time 5) Iceland is 16 when they are having their conversation, so Lukas visits Matthias for 3 years before not seeing him for a year, he is 24 when he returns 6) The red "hearts" on the Danish coat of arms are officially søblade (singular: søblad), not hearts. I get picky about this. 7) I've never written present tense before and I didn't reread this, so please, tell me if I made a mistake. You are my beta readers here.  
> It took me 4-5 hours to write this, mostly because I get easily distracted and stare off into the distance while thinking of new ideas. It's a process.

Sitting at his desk, drawing by the light of the fireplace, the the older brother talks with the younger. His pen moves across the paper with ease, bringing from nothing the figure of a man.

“Who are you drawing?” The younger brother’s white hair appears luminescent in the fire light. The older studies it for a moment.

He turns back to his drawing. “A man.”

The boy huffs. “Of course. But who is this man? There has to be a story.”

His brother laughs and shakes his head. “Not every drawing is made with a purpose, some do, some are given purpose by others, and some never have any meaning.”

“And this one?” He leans in, studying the man.

“This one…” He says, but hesitates, mouth hanging open. His pen hovers over the paper. “This one is a person. A person I am, or was, very close with.”

“So there is a story, who is he?” The boy leans back in his chair, an almost smug look on his face.

“Do you know the story of Holger Danske?” The brother focuses on his drawing while the younger boy glances out the window. The outline of Kronborg castle is just visible in the cloudy night sky.

“I’ve heard it. You aren’t implying you’re drawing Holger Danske? He’s real and you met him?” The boys eyes are bright and curious despite the cynical tone of his voice.

The man steps back from his art, admiring the figure. A handsome man with wild hair and striking blue eyes bears the Danish coat of arms and an imposing axe. Each søblad is a deep and vibrant red against the yellow gold of the arms, and the crowned lions seem to leap roaring from the paper. The brother remembers when he saw them up close, glimmering with real gold on the broad chest of a man who smiles in the middle of savage war. “I call him Matthias.”

The boy blinks. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by his brother. “When I met him, I was aboard a travelling merchant ship that got caught in the midst of a battle. It was when I was first coming to Denmark.

_The deck had been stained red from the slaughter. Not many on the ship were fighters, but the soldiers and sailors who boarded them were. The few who knew how fought valiantly beside the captain, but were outnumbered. With no one knowing where he came from, a tall blond man wearing a gleaming Danish coat of arms fought with the men. He easily overpowered the attackers, showing no sign of struggle as he defeated them. He went even so far as to sing old tunes while fighting, as though he wasn’t covered in gore and beheading men with a wicked axe._

_He was almost inhuman._

_He had saved the older brother from falling overboard when one of the remaining attackers had tried to take him along on his way to a watery grave. A firm grip had caught him before he fell the length of his arms and dragged him back up. The other man fell screeching into the sea below with a loud crashing of water._

_The brother had looked up into a face covered in blood and saw only kind concern. He had made sure he was alright and left without saying much. The unreal man left unbothered while the brother was struck with awe._

“Wasn’t I on that ship when it was attacked?” the boy asks. His eyes are wide as he listens to his brother. At some point during the recounting of the tale, he had shifted forward to the edge of his seat and leaned closer.

His brother nods. “You were below deck, and, thankfully, blissfully unaware.”

“I swear I remember seeing him on deck though.” His white eyebrows are tightly knit as he looks into something no one else can see. 

“That’s impossible. You were far too young to remember any of it and I made sure you were safely below deck, both before and after the battle,” He says firmly. He shakes his head with a sigh when his brother isn’t convinced. “It is late. You are remembering things that never happened. Off to bed with you.”

The boy insisted but his brother cuts him off with a cold look. He pouts and heads towards the room he shares with his brother, but pauses at the door. “Wait,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were close with him? Surely you don’t consider meeting some mysterious man once and being saved by him close. You didn’t mention anything about learning his name to be Matthias.”

“The day they announced that the war was over, I decided to see if what I thought was true.” He spoke with an unidentifiable emotion in his voice.

“You thought that he was Holger Danske.” The older brother nods. “And you were right?” Another nod.

“I slunk into Kronborg castle that night. I made a lucky guess about where he would be. I chose to crawl through a small window at the very base of the castle. I could just get through, though it was a tight fit.” He sighs. He pours a drink and sips it before continuing. “I apologize, I’m not used to talking this much.”

The boy returns to his seat and waits for him to continue.

“It was pitch black in the room. I couldn’t see anything and simply hoped that I wouldn’t find trouble.

_As he slid through the window, he tried to find a place for his feet to stand. Kicking around blindly in the dark though, he found nothing. He yelped as a pair of hands grabbed him around the waist and pulled him through. He struggled briefly, but the grip was firm. And familiar._

_“You’re the man from the ship that day.” His voice sounded like if a brass sculpture could talk. It was strange._

_He hesitated before speaking. “You. You remember me.”_

_“Of course. Hold on, let light some candles.” Like that the room was illuminated, revealing the same man who had saved him, now lit by an almost ethereal glow. “I knew it was you. Hard to forget a cute boy in need of saving on the first day of a war.” He winked. The brother, now an intruder, frowned._

_“Really?” He pushed slightly at the arms still holding him._

_“Yes, really. Now,” He said and let him go at last. “What brings you here?” He sat down in an ornate chair set before a grand marble table. Now that he looked about the room, he could see just how impressive it was. The ceiling was unexpectedly high, and the only windows were set high in the wall. The one he had entered through sat open. A wrought iron candelabra sat in the middle of the table and several sconces lined the walls. Tapestries depicting epic battles in vivid colours hung on each wall, with a large, heavy door partially hidden behind one. Only the bottom of the dark wood was visible beneath the large work. The axe he had seen before hung from the back wall along with his armor that bore the prominent coat of arms. There was a single chair in the room, in which the man, presumably Holger Danske, sat. It was gilded so that the light seemed to scatter in a million directions from it. It littered the already swirling marble table with even more fragments._

_He took a moment to study it all._

_“I wanted to ask you some questions,” he breathed. The man opened his arms in an ‘ask away’ manner and leaned back. “You’re Holger Danske?”_

_His mouth curled into a small smile. It crinkled the edges of his eyes. There were dark lines beneath them. “That’s what I am often called, but you’re free to give me whatever name you want to. In the end, I am still Denmark’s protector.”_

_The brother nodded. The man asked him a question before another he could form another one. “What is your name though, I’m curious.”_

_He stared. “Lukas. My name is Lukas Bondevik.”_

_“Lukas? Well it’s nice to meet you Lukas.”_

_“Likewise…” Calling Holger Danske felt off. Holger Danske was a fairy tale you told to kids so that they thought their country would always be safe, even as the cities burned. Holger Danske didn’t feel real, but the man before him, as superhuman as he may seem, was real. “Matthias.”_

_‘Matthias’ tilted his head, tossing it around in his mind before nodding in acceptance. Lukas had pulled the name from his old pet dog that had died many years before, but didn’t tell him that._

_He breathed in deep before asking his next question. “Why did you save me?”_

_It was Matthias’ turn to stare. “Because I’m a protector and a saviour. It’s what I do.” His voice was almost incredulous._

_“Yes, but you protect Denmark. Perhaps you were not aware that I am Norwegian. I’m not your charge. Not anymore, at least.” Lukas hadn’t considered that his saviour might not have realised that._

_Matthias shook his head. “I am and was well aware. Your people may no longer be my charge, but neither are you my enemy. That aside, you live here now, so you are a part of my people, even if you were not always.” He laughed at Lukas’ confused stare. “Is that all you snaked past the guard and into the castle to ask?”_

_“I...I suppose so,” he said. His gaze was still troubled, but he wasn’t sure why._

_“Well if that’s all then I’m afraid that I am very tired. The war is won, Denmark is safe once more, and it is time for me to return to my dreams.” He slumped in his chair. The dark bags under his eyes became more pronounced in the shadows from the candle light. “But,” he added. “I certainly wouldn’t mind waking up should you come to see me again.”_

_Lukas nodded. “I think I will." He glanced out the small windows. There was still enough time until daybreak to return home unnoticed. "I’ll see you another day-or, well, night.”_

_Matthias nodded, a small smile on his face and with that Lukas climbed back out the window and stole away into the night. He ran most of the way back to his small home, not for fear of being seen near the castle, nor because he was being chased, but because the adrenaline pumping through his veins insisted he do so. He had met Holger Danske. He had met a fairy tale and now he was certain that he had been saved by him._

“Okay, this story just keeps getting wilder. And I have more questions now than when you started. You’re not a very good storyteller,” His younger brother criticizes. Lukas throws his hand over his face. 

“I’m trying, brat.”   
“Rude.”

“You were rude first.”

“I was honest.”

“Honestly rude.”

“Asshole.” 

“Dimwit.”

Lukas stares his brother down, holding eye contact until they both break out into laughter. They stay like that, laughing in the deep shadows of the night. When they both recover their breath, the boy speaks first.

“So, what happened from there.” He pours a drink of his own and refills his brother’s.

Lukas shrugs. “I went back to see him. Again and again. He had endless stories and I had nights to waste. Do you remember when I would leave sometimes in the evening and return in the morning?”

“I always wondered what you were up to. I always bet that you were off having a tryst with some secret lover,” he jokes. “Although I guess it’s possible I was right.” He looks to his brother with one eyebrow raised.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, messing with the long hair there. He doesn’t answer the unspoken question immediately. “We met many times. It’s amazing I didn’t get caught, I wonder.” He trails off before picking up again. “In that time we grew close, certainly. Friends, for sure, and, yes, that too.”

Lukas rolls his eyes at his brother’s amusement. “Teenagers,” he mutters.

Carrying on, he explains, “We met for years, and, no, I won’t go into the details of those meetings, but at some point he stopped waking up.” The boy’s face fell. “He had been cutting the meetings shorter and shorter for a while, but one time he finally didn’t wake up at all. I tried a few more times after that, to no avail. I couldn’t seem to wake him up. I hate to say it, but eventually I gave up.” His mouth curls further down the more he admits.

His brother scrambles to recover the mood. “How long has it been since you last tried to talk?”

Lukas glances at his drawing, long since forgotten, and then up to the ceiling. “A year, exactly. That’s why I drew him today.”

“Oh, well maybe you should try again tomorrow night? Maybe he was just worn out and needed a break.” His voice is filled with uncertainty.

“Maybe,” he hums.

“I think you should. You seem to like him a lot. I’ve never heard you talk so much in your life.” He is certain when he speaks this time.

Lukas rubs his throat. “I can tell, my voice is killing me. I’m going to be hoarse all day tomorrow.” He chuckles. “And love. I love him.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. The boy is only teenager and not very good with emotions. He looks around the room, trying to find something else.

“Well, it is really late now. We should both go to bed. Come on.” He stands up, stretching stiff muscles as he does so, and motions his brother towards the bedroom door. “Go on, I have to put some things away first.”

The boy happily heads to bed, realizing how tired he is as he stands on woozy legs. He intends to stay awake until his brother returns to the room, but the moment his head hits the pillow, he slips into a deep sleep. Lukas spends only a minute putting away his supplies. He tucks the drawing away last, looking it over before putting between the pages of his book. Once, that’s done, he cracks the door and checks on his younger brother, fast asleep. He blows out the candles. 

The house is silent without him there.

He slips through the night, careful not to alert anyone. It is late. Much later than he would normally leave, with only a few hours till dawn. He will pay for this night later. That’s for daytime him to worry about. Right now, he knows exactly where he’s going. It’s all too familiar, avoiding the guards and crossing the grounds to where the old window is. They haven’t even changed their guard in the past year.

He opens the window and drops onto the stone floor. He’s glad he can still fit. The filtered moonlight is barely strong enough to see by, but once his eyes adjust, he can make out the familiar shapes. He brushes his hand across the table, as much for nostalgia as for avoiding running into it. His fingers come back covered in dust.

He moves to where he can make out the outline of the chair and reaches out. His hand meets skin, cool, but not cold, as always. He traces a familiar face. Bushy eyebrows that Lukas liked to make fun of him for, crooked nose that had been broken in battle more than once, and rough lips he still remembers the feeling of on his own. He sits up on the table and leans in close, until their noses brush.

“Matthias,” He whispers. He waits with bated breath. The room is silent without him breathing, as he had learned long ago the Matthias doesn’t breathe when asleep. It always frightened him, even if he knew nothing was wrong. He holds his breath until his lungs are crying. He pushes as long as he can until, finally, he is forced to draw in a gasping breath.

No response.

He shuts his eyes and presses their foreheads together.

“Guess this was all for nothing. I need to stop getting my hopes up, if I do this too much the guards are sure to notice eventually.” He grits his teeth, talking to himself.

“Don’t be rude to the guards, they noticed you long ago. Thankfully they had the sense to talk to me first. Normally it’s considered inappropriate to wake me, you know?” The voice is jarringly loud against the silence. Lukas jerks away, almost falling back. His breathing is erratic as he stares at the shadowed form a Matthias, very much awake and breathing now, before him.

He doesn’t let him speak before lunging forward and grabbing him in a tight embrace. Matthias laughs into the top of his platinum hair, easily pulling him forward onto his lap. He tries to speak again, but Lukas drags him into a kiss. He holds him in it until he can’t any longer and is once again gasping for breath, although this time it’s a good thing. 

“Mm. Sorry for not seeing you for so long, I couldn’t wake up there for a while, even though I desperately wanted to,” Matthias apologizes. There is genuine sorrow in his voice and Lukas can see the crease in his brow now that the candles are lit. He blinks away his tears from the unexpected light.

“Shut up. I’m mad at you,” He snaps and buries his face in the other’s shoulder. The pair of arms that wrap around him squeeze his waist. He places a gentle kiss to the top of the soft blond hair. It’s his way of speaking everything he wants without saying a word. 

And maybe dawn is just about breaking, and maybe being in love with an immortal won’t work out in the end, but right now, right here, he can’t care less. Neither of them can bring themselves to worry about the future while still caught in the present.


End file.
